


Ten Minutes

by notluvulongtime



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 20:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3582510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notluvulongtime/pseuds/notluvulongtime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade suffers through a brain injury while Sherlock struggles not to lose heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> This is perhaps the angstiest piece of fic I have. It was so difficult to write this smallish story that I found myself rushing into it to get the first draft over with. Many thanks to Imp and Cori for their beta support.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters.

*

For the only time in his life, Sherlock admitted defeat.

He didn’t know how or when, but all it took was a well-timed five-second broadcast on an A&E waiting room’s television screen to find out who:

_Hurting now, hmm?_

His triumphant face; Moriarty had won.

But there wasn’t time to get angry because Lestrade’s doctor was walking towards him.

“A CT scan shows a massive swelling of the brain, which explains the seizures. We went ahead and sedated him so that we could get a lumbar puncture. The lab came back as positive for herpes simplex. D.I. Lestrade has viral encephalitis. We’ve put him on intravenous acyclovir immediately. Mr. Holmes, can you tell us when your husband first started showing symptoms?”

Sherlock had chosen this specialist knowing full well that he was the type to get straight to the point, but suddenly it was too much and he felt the room swimming –

The doctor guided him to a chair and tried to get their eyes to meet, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Holmes, but I need as much information as possible. Time is of the essence, as I’m sure you know.”

“A-A few days, maybe almost a week, he’s had headaches. But he’s always had those migraines periodically. And then the fever, but that was just today.” Sherlock’s strong baritone had been reduced to practically a whisper.

“I won’t lie to you,” the doctor swallowed before going on, “I can’t guarantee anything. It depends on how soon he takes to the medication, but in cases like this, only 2.5% come out of it with fully restored brain function.”

*   *   *

_~~8:30 am I am waking for the first time after a coma.~~ _

_~~No, now~~ _ ~~I _am waking for the first time. The time is 8:40 am_~~

_~~YES, NOW I am waking at 8:50 am~~ _

_The one before it is a lie; it is currently 9:00 am and I am waking for the first time right_ NOW _._

After getting home from hospital, Greg would leave scraps of paper around 221B like this for Mrs. Hudson to pick up. At first it was alarming evidence of his neurological decline, but so much time had passed and after the first hundred or so such scribblings later, each discovery of one elicited merely a long sigh of sadness as she hoovered the rugs in the flat.

She finished up in the living area and turned off the machine, winded up the cord and snapped it back in place. She stopped for a moment to listen for any movement from their room but the flat was silent. The lines on her face were deeper than they had been in years. She put the machine away and quietly closed the door behind her.

*   *   *

There was a pause mid-sentence to signal that it would cycle in all over again. To someone like Sherlock, this kind of medical oddity would’ve fascinated him. That is, if he’d never loved the person presenting such an oddity so much.

He never could get used to the enthusiasm Greg would show him, as though they hadn’t seen each other in a long, long time, and winced when the crushing hug was given.

“ _Sherlock_ , lad! Where have you been? Busy running cases, have we? Anythin’ interesting?”

It had taken a lot to get Lestrade to this point and he would run the gamut of emotions throughout a long and taxing day. It was in the mornings and evenings when he was the most frustrated and angry. That’s when the scribblings of ‘evidence’ would commence. Every ten minutes, he would remember nothing recently said or done. Still, one would show him pictures of old friends and colleagues, to which he could name them all. The specialists said that the damage to his hippocampus made it impossible for him to make new memories. But none of his procedural memory had changed; he could still play whole songs on the guitar and he could name every criminal he’d had a part in putting away during his long, dogged career on the force.

For Greg, it comforted him to be able to go over cases with Sherlock. There were so many solved and unsolved ones, that the younger detective could’ve spent each ten minutes he had on a different case and not repeat himself way into new year’s.

But for Sherlock there was no comfort at all. Lestrade had forgotten the one thing he wanted him to remember: that they were in love.

*   *   *

“Lestrade,” Sherlock glared at the clock and licked his lips. They were eight minutes in. It wasn’t enough time to convince him, but he had to try. “I want to tell you something that is true and I’ll understand if you don’t believe me –“

“Then why tell me?” Greg had finished a good laugh having to do with a kidnapped gorilla they’d recovered on a houseboat and it was clear that this line of discussion was going to tip the mood, “We’ve been here before; you tell me something I don’t remember, that _I_ know to be false and then we have a row –“

“This is the only thing, if I never get to talk again that I would like to speak about.” Each attempt started out with a variation on this line.

“All right, then,” Lestrade gestured, “continue.”

“We are a couple. We were married on November 18th of the past year.”

Predictably, Greg’s eyes went wide. There was a heavy silence.

And then, like clockwork, he began to laugh, “You’re having a go! Oh, that’s a _good_ one.”

“It’s true,” Sherlock hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes watering.

“Come now,” Lestrade smiled, “I know you think I’m a bit dense at work, but you can’t fool me, I mean, really –“ there was always that twinkle in his right eye, and then a shake of the head, “Nah, you’re pullin’ me leg, I know.”

And then Sherlock had an idea, “Let me write it down for you. I’ll sign it. You can sign it, put the time and date next to it. Then when you see it, we can talk more about it. Can you promise me we can try to do this? For me, will you try?”

Greg was taken aback at Sherlock’s earnestness. There was something very important about this prank he was pulling. The worst part of Lestrade was afraid, but the best part of him was concerned and that won over. He picked up the pen and began to write, “I don’t know what’s up your arse but I’ll go along with it.”

After Sherlock signed his name, Lestrade dated the signature, glanced at the clock and wrote down the hour and minute, shaking his head the entire time, “Don’t ever say I wasn’t your most patient friend.”

*   *   *

_Sherlock Holmes and Greg Lestrade were married on November 18 th, 2014. Signed: S. Holmes, G. Lestrade, March 21, 2015; 10:38 pm_

“Is that our handwriting, Lestrade?”

“Yes, but it’s too early for an interrogation; besides, I’m used to being on the other side,” Greg was sipping his coffee, “Here’s a question for you,” waving a butter knife with the other hand, “If we’re married, show me pictures and I’ll believe you.”

Sherlock’s tentative smile turned upside down, “We didn’t have a ceremony.”

“Of course we wouldn’t! You hate that stuff – that is, _that’s_ believable. Not the actual getting married part –“

Sherlock turned to the windows and closed his eyes, remembering both the pain and joy of that day, “It was the tenth day of your kidnapping. I found you, dehydrated and weak. But I found you. You asked me to marry you. I left your bedside at the hospital to get the papers. Mycroft witnessed it and then left us alone.”

He ran through it quickly but the speed didn’t nullify the hurt it caused him to say it aloud. “I have the medical records of your time there. I have our marriage license.”

Sherlock flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder. The softness in Greg’s gravelly voice made the tears come.

“Get them for me?”

The next eight minutes were spent in silence as Lestrade perused the marriage license, thumbing over the raised part of the seal, their signatures, the flourish with which Mycroft crossed the ‘T’ in his name. “Give me that pad and pen?” he asked Sherlock.

_Evidence, Sherlock Holmes and Greg Lestrade were married on November 18 th, 2014. Witnessed: S. Holmes, G. Lestrade, March 22, 2015; 9:22 am_

*   *   *

They were in bed together, the piece of paper between them. Sherlock looked at the clock. They had three minutes left. “Are you sure you want this?”

“I wish it didn’t take us so long to get to this point; I wish I could be convinced sooner.”

It was a stab to Sherlock’s heart because it was true.

“Just kiss me. I’m sorry if I won’t remember –“

And then Sherlock went in for it, his heart racing. It was frantic, hungry, desperate and needy. And by the end of a minute, they were both out of breath, but it was clear from the tears running down his cheeks that he felt loved.

Greg palmed the wetness away, on the verge of crying himself, “All better?”

*   *   *

Sherlock woke to an empty space beside him and nearly jumped up from panic. Then he heard the white noise of the shower being turned on and relaxed a muscle or two, ready to barrel in when Greg became disoriented.

The white pad of paper was on the bedside. Before Greg had fallen asleep the previous night, he’d gone back to the living area to get it because he wanted to write down his new memories. Sherlock had been too tired to ask him what it was but now when he looked down at the pad –

_Sherlock Holmes and Greg Lestrade are married, G. Lestrade, S. Holmes March 22, 2015, 10:58 pm_

_Sherlock Holmes kissed Greg Lestrade March 22, 11:15 pm_

_Greg ~~Holmes~~ Lestrade loves Sherlock 03/22/15 11:17pm_

_Greg Lestrade loves Sherlock Holmes 03/23/15 7:44 am_

Sherlock wanted to weep. He laughed, instead.

Suddenly, there was a cry of frustration coming from the loo. Sherlock got up and went in. This was how they always started their day, but somehow, this time, there was hope that it would be a better one.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the [true story](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ipD_G7U2FcM) of [Clive Wearing](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clive_Wearing), a British conductor and musicologist who suffers from both anterograde and retrograde amnesia.


End file.
